


Better Get Comfortable

by charlock221



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Claustrophobia, Doctor!John, Elevators, Friendship, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Panic Attacks, well some people but not me, who needs them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlock221/pseuds/charlock221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without warning, the elevator came to an abrupt stop, causing the four passengers to be jerked one way or another, each of them grabbing onto the handle bar that ran along the three walls. It was nothing like a gentle stop that usually announced the elevator doors were about to open, and indeed the doors did not open now.</p><p>“That can’t be good.” John muttered, looking at the other three to check they were not hurt. Seconds later the lights went out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Get Comfortable

“Why is Mycroft with us?” Sherlock muttered to John as the pair walked ahead of Lestrade and Mycroft on the pavement.

“Because he gave you this case and it obviously must be important enough that he needs to oversee it or something. Don’t want you breaking anything or offending someone significant.” John replied, smirking at Sherlock’s huff of frustration.

“I can behave perfectly well without him breathing down my neck.” the detective said petulantly.

“Relax, you’ll probably solve this in no time and then we can go home and get takeout.”

Sherlock doubted this would be solved by the end of the day; if it’s a case from Mycroft, it’s going to be more complex than usual. It never was easy and normally involved an element of danger: a fact that made it easy to recruit John into coming with him, rather than working at that boring clinic.

The four walked into the lobby of a tall hotel where police officers and forensic scientists were milling about. One of the officers directed them to the elevator, as the body they were coming to examine was on the fifth floor.

Entering the elevator, Sherlock squeezed himself into the far left corner, sneering as Mycroft followed John in and stood next to Greg near the doors. John rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s expression, leaning against his corner and hoping Sherlock could keep his mouth shut whilst they were in this confined space.

Lestrade pushed the button for the fifth floor and as the elevator began to make its way up, he filled the other three in on what he knew so far. Sherlock already knew what was being said, so he focused his attention on Mycroft and sending him death glares. He subsided though when he felt an elbow nudge his side, and he switched his glare to John instead, who in return stuck his tongue out. Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms, his gaze now resting on the two doors and wishing the elevator would get to their destination faster.

Without warning, the elevator came to an abrupt stop, causing the four passengers to be jerked one way or another, each of them grabbing onto the handle bar that ran along the three walls. It was nothing like a gentle stop that usually announced the elevator doors were about to open, and indeed the doors did not open now.

“That can’t be good.” John muttered, looking at the other three to check they were not hurt. Seconds later the lights went out.

“Great.” he said. He heard Greg curse and he was pretty sure Mycroft released a sigh. John rummaged in his pocket and pulled out his phone, turning it on and enabling flashlight mode. Greg’s phone lit up after him, and not too long later Mycroft turned his on.

“It’s alright, people know we’re in here.” John said as Greg moved over to the panel and examined the buttons. He pressed the call button, hoping a technician would answer and get them out soon. No reply came though.

“The person on the other end of this button can talk to us can’t they?” Greg confirmed whilst staring at the silent button accusingly, unsure if he was making it up.

“Yeah, usually.” John answered.

“Try pressing it again.” Mycroft said, watching Greg calmly. The DI refrained from rolling his eyes and pressed the button again. There was a tense silence as everyone waited for an answer, but it became clear that after a minute nobody was there to receive the call, or it was because the button was broken.

“Wonderful.” Greg sighed, resisting the urge to kick the wall.

“Call 999?” John suggested.

“I _am_ 999.” Greg responded. “And the rest of us are downstairs or above us, depending on whereabouts we are.”

“I was thinking more fire-fighters than police, mate.” John said with a slight smile.

“Almost doesn’t seem worth it, though, does it? I mean, surely someone will be able to hear us if we shouted, don’t you think?” Greg asked, turning to John and awaiting his response, his small source of light illuminating his chin.

“Well shout, then.” the doctor replied, grinning at Lestrade’s eye roll. The DI turned to the doors and was obviously preparing himself to risk looking stupid if no one heard him. A quiet huff next to John, though, diverted his attention away from Greg and towards Sherlock, who was bathed in darkness having not illuminated his phone. John glanced back at Mycroft and Greg, who were both examining the doors and the panel. Certain they weren't paying attention to him, he turned to the detective.

“Sherlock?” he asked blindly, unable to see his friend. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Just waiting for you idiots to get us out.” Sherlock snapped. John pointed his makeshift flashlight in the detective’s direction to momentarily discover his friend had vanished, before he realised Sherlock was hunched on the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees.

John moved closer to him and sat against the wall, legs outstretched. A moment later he felt a long hand clutch at his sleeve.

“Claustrophobic?” he asked softly, wary of Greg and Mycroft nearby.

“A little.”

“A little.” the doctor replied. “A little as in, this has caught me off guard and I don’t particularly like it, or a little as in, I’m going to have a panic attack any second now?” he asked, glancing at his friend. He placed his phone on the floor between them so they could see each other.

“More towards the last option.” Sherlock answered, avoiding eye contact.

“Okay.” John let out a short, tense breath, contemplating his very limited options. “Don’t suppose Mycroft knows about this?” he asked.

“Of course he doesn’t. I wouldn’t be able to stand his mockery.”

“I don’t think he’d – fine.” John relented after the glare he received.

“That’s it, I’m shouting.” John heard Lestrade say. He looked up and was startled to see Mycroft watching them, but upon meeting each other’s gaze the elder Holmes averted his stare quickly. John watched him warily for a moment before deciding he wasn’t going to do anything to aggravate Sherlock so the doctor turned his attention back to the quiet detective.

As Greg began to rap on the doors and shout for help, John felt the grip on his sleeve tighten. He gently removed the fingers and before the thrown look on Sherlock’s face could evolve he took the detective’s hand in his own, squeezing it reassuringly. Sherlock squeezed back tighter and John began to fear for his fingers, before the younger man loosened his hold slightly.

“Do you have any methods for going through panic attacks? Because I hate to say it but at the moment it looks as if we’re not getting out of here any time soon.” John said quietly.

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked down at his feet. “I’ve never experienced a panic attack.” he said, and John noticed his breathing pick up slightly.

“Alright.” John replied soothingly. “But right now, I need you to take deep breaths so you don’t have a panic attack due to the thought of having a panic attack.”

Sherlock let out a short laugh and Greg turned at the sound. He saw Sherlock’s hunched figure and the grip he had on John and he looked to the doctor for answers, a frown forming on his face.

John mouthed ‘stay there’ and Greg nodded, turning back to the door merely to stare at it, obviously having decided nobody could hear them outside. John noticed that Mycroft had also turned his back on them.

The humour Sherlock had felt was short-lived, and by now the detective’s breathing had picked up considerably.

“Sherlock,” John said. “Look at me, please.” The detective obligingly faced him, a look of distress on his face. “It’s okay, you’ll get through this, I just need for you to take one deep breath.”

The detective looked as if he was struggling with this task, and John rubbed his arm soothingly.

“One breath, that’s all I need.”

“Sorry folks, there’s been a bit of a problem with the elevators today,” A loud voice crackled over the speaker, making everyone jump. “It’s being sorted though, and you should be out soon.”

“Hear that? Not long now.” John said. “I’m still waiting on that breath.”

“Tr-trying.” Sherlock gasped, trying to hunch over.

“I know you are, Sherlock, and you’re doing really well. Stay sat up for me, please.” Sherlock obeyed, but the one arm that wasn't being held by John wrapped itself lightly around his middle in a protective gesture.

He heard Sherlock take a slow breath and smiled.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Take another one for me.”

There was another struggle, but this one wasn't as long as the previous one, and soon Sherlock had taken another slower breath.

“Brilliant.” John praised. “Give me five more, now, and count them.”

The detective inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. “O-one.” he stuttered.

“Yes,” John prompted, and Sherlock breathed slowly again. “... Two.”

“Wonderful.” the doctor supported.

“T-three.” Sherlock muttered after another. “Four.”

“Doing swimmingly, Sherlock, one more.” Outside, John could hear people talking, and he knew they’d be getting out within the next few minutes.

Sherlock took his final deep breath. “Five.” He allowed the tiniest of smiles at his small achievement.

“Good, Sherlock, now just–” He was interrupted by the sudden noise of the elevator doors opening.  In front of them stood two technicians, smiling victoriously.

John had no time for thanking them, though, and he moved to crouch on the balls of his feet in front of Sherlock.

“Stand up for me, Sherlock, that’s it. Slowly, now.” John gripped Sherlock under his elbows and the two of them gradually got to their feet. The doctor noticed Sherlock’s shaking hands and knew that the panic attack hadn’t fully abated yet.

“This way, we’ll get you somewhere quiet, yeah?” The army doctor began to lead him out of the elevator, Mycroft and Greg standing aside, as well as the technicians.

“And s-spacious.” Sherlock muttered, breaths still slightly quick. John smiled.

“And spacious, yes.” That was probably easier said than done, though, John mused, as they were on the fifth floor of a hotel. There were probably only guest rooms and possibly an office or two. Maybe some bathrooms but even then that wouldn’t be the largest room. A sudden idea struck him, though, and he quickened his pace, taking Sherlock’s arm and leading him down the hallway.

“Mycroft d-didn’t see me, did h-he?” Sherlock asked, almost hesitantly.

John wondered what Mycroft must have done in the past to cause this distrust within Sherlock. Seeing the elder Holmes today, though, he knew he wouldn’t mock Sherlock for this.

“No, he was focused on finding a way out.” John assured him. Sherlock scoffed.

“As if he’d f-find a way out.” the detective muttered quietly. The doctor rolled his eyes. Though Sherlock was recovering enough to make jokes, he still needed to make sure he wouldn’t relapse anytime soon. Panic attacks were sometimes inexplicable, which meant that though they were out of the elevator, Sherlock could still fall into another one just by thinking about what had happened.

“What room were we initially going to, for the case?” he asked, and Sherlock frowned.

“143.” he replied. John led him to that room and was relieved to find it open.

Inside, the body of a young woman lay spread eagled, blood covering her chest. A few officers, oblivious to the elevator situation that had occurred minutes ago, were chatting to each other, clearly waiting for Lestrade to come back and give them more instructions.

Sherlock’s gaze immediately fell upon the woman, and John knew he was categorising everything about her from what he could see. The doctor didn’t let him get to work just yet though, and he kept his grip on Sherlock and tugged him across the room and towards the wall length window, where he knew there was a small balcony past it. John opened the window and stepped out, pulling Sherlock with him who took a deep breath, taking in the sight and sounds of London.

“Better?” John asked.

“Getting there.” Sherlock replied.

“Good.” John turned and leant against the balcony, looking at the dead woman. “Now see what you can find out.” he said, nodding at the corpse.

“Hmm?” Sherlock twisted too, and seemed to light up at the fact that he could see the lady from where he was. Remaining on the balcony, his ice-grey eyes scanned over her analytically.

John kept his gaze on Sherlock, though, and was pleased to note that his breathing had basically returned to normal and a bit of colour tinted his cheeks, compared to the paleness he had noticed in the detective when they’d stepped out of the elevator. It was cool outside, too, which John knew would help calm Sherlock that little bit more.

After a few minutes of standing on the spot, Sherlock began to move closer towards the body and John let out a relieved breath, glad to see that the younger man was comfortable enough to move away from the open space in order to complete his work. Lestrade and Mycroft entered then, and Sherlock began to relay information to the DI, who took out his notebook and made notes.

“Aptly handled, doctor, I have to say.” John jumped at Mycroft’s presence, too deep in his own thoughts to have noticed his arrival.

“Thank you, though I am a doctor so I would hope I’d know how to handle it.” Mycroft tipped his head in agreement.

“Nevertheless, I am grateful for your service.”

John managed to prevent himself from rolling his eyes, Mycroft’s statement having made it seem like he was merely there to serve Sherlock.

“No problem.” John decided to say instead. He cleared his throat and shifted a bit, having thought of something else to say.

“You won’t make fun of him for this, will you?” he asked, and Mycroft shot him a look of disappointment.

"You think me that low?" he asked.

“Not at all, but Sherlock does.” John responded. Mycroft nodded slightly.

“Yes, he seems to think I would leap upon the chance to prove my superiority. To him, a panic attack to which I was witness would be the ultimate humiliation. Best not tell him I know, I think.” Mycroft said, and then he released a small smile. “He forgets, of course, that he is my little brother and I have witnessed him do far stupider things when we were younger.”

John chuckled and continued to watch Sherlock, who now appeared to be insulting Lestrade. The DI didn’t look pleased, but he refrained from snapping back, which usually happened when Sherlock made an acerbic comment.

“Time to take my leave, I believe, before my dear brother turns his insults towards me.” John smiled in response and said goodbye as Mycroft made his way across the hotel room and out the door, saying nothing to Sherlock or Greg.

Greg also took his leave, claiming he needed a cigarette. John chuckled again as Greg caught his eye and pretended to throttle Sherlock’s neck when the detective’s back was turned. The DI left soon after that, taking his officers with him as he knew Sherlock would only insult them.

John remained out on the balcony, knowing that Sherlock would call him if he needed him. He looked out over London and watched a young couple walk down the street, hand in hand. On the other side of the street, a man was trying to calm his crying daughter, who had fallen over, by making funny faces and blowing raspberries. John smiled as the man’s daughter giggled and raised her arms to be carried. The man swept her into his arms and bounced along the path with her.

“Chinese or Italian?” Sherlock asked, making his presence known by poking John in the arm. John pursed his lips in consideration.

“Italian?” he suggested and Sherlock nodded. The two left the balcony and made their way downstairs. Outside, Sherlock stuffed his hands in his coat pocket as the pair walked towards the restaurant.

“Solve the case?” John asked.

“Nearly,” Sherlock replied. “I need to confirm something with Molly, and if my suspicions are correct, then I know who the killer is. That can wait until tomorrow, though.”

John raised his eyebrows at the idea of Sherlock putting something off until the next day, and the detective must have guessed the reason for his surprise because he rolled his eyes.

“I’m hungry.” he explained, shrugging.

“Well good, because I am too.” John said with a smile. Sherlock returned a hesitant smile, before he cleared his throat and became serious again.

“John, I – uh – wanted to thank you. For earlier.” he said quietly. “I’m grateful to you for – erm – aiding me, so... thanks.” he finished with a resolute nod.

"You’re welcome.” John said warmly, bumping into Sherlock’s side as they walked. “Not like I was gonna stand there and do nothing, was it?”

"No, um, of course not.” Sherlock affirmed. “And you should know, I – I would do the same, if you had a panic attack for whatever reason. Say, for example, because you found a large spider.”

"Thanks Sherlock, I – wait, a spider?!” John exclaimed, glancing at Sherlock. “Why would I have an attack over a spider?”

“Well I know you’re always reluctant to remove them from rooms at home, and I wondered if it could be because you have a past trauma–”

“No, no I don’t have a past trauma relating to spiders, thank you.” John said, shaking his head but unable to keep away a smile.

"Are you certain?” Sherlock asked, dead serious.  

“Completely certain, yes.” the doctor replied, beginning to laugh.

“Oh. Regardless, you would accept my help if you were in distress?”

"Yes Sherlock, I would accept your help if I needed saving from a spider.” John laughed.

“Good.” the detective said, looking relieved. “Why are you laughing?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
